Abandoned
by redfeather93
Summary: When Eira comes home to find another car in her usually empty driveway it sets off a course of events that may take her anywhere... I suck at summarising and titles sooo...
1. chapter 1

**Hiiii. This is not my first fanfic but is the only one i feel like continuing. It is a SPN fic but unfortunately I do not own Supernatural, I own only my OC Eira and the plot... This story won't have any pairings (except maybe destiel later, but I don't know) so read and enjoy- i hope... THANKS**

A black sleek car rolled up in front of the pub, a usual sight. The figure exited the car, a hood pulled low over their face, as to not to attract attention and swung the door to the pub open. The figure slid onto a stool at the bar and signalled for the bartender. As the bartender, a young girl with frizzy black hair, came over, she recognised the posture of the figure, slumped, yet always vigilant. As she neared the person, they motioned with their hand, signalling for the usual, a single shot of the strongest vodka (a vodka specially in for this one patron). The bartender poured a glass and set it down in front of the customer. They nodded in appreciation and took a swig from the glass.

The figure pulled down the hood, revealing a shock of scraggly, unkempt fiery red hair. The girl, no older than early-thirties, stared down at her drink swilling the yellowish concoction around in the glass, she suddenly looked up, as if she'd heard something, revealing piercing silver eyes, these were eyes so hard and penetrating they looked incorrect on such a young girls face. The girl looked around the pub, looking for the sound that had disturbed her from her contemplations. The room was rather busy at this time of night, as the men and women without children to look after had come down to get a pint or two. The girl scanned the room, searching for the cause of the disturbance. Clearly not finding it the girl gave a slight shrug and returned to staring down at the depths of her whiskey.

She sat like that just staring for a long while, interrupted only by a single gesture for another round of vodka; she looked prepared to sit like that for the rest of the evening.

A tall man sidled up to the bar, sat down next to the girl and called for the curly-haired bartender, he glanced side-ways at the girl sitting next to him in silence. "Hey,", he said in an effort to start up a conversation. The girl did nothing, she didn't even acknowledge his greeting in the form of a nod of the head or anything. She ignored him entirely. "So…" he started again, in the vain hope he might get a response. "So," he repeated, "You just gonna sit there all evening, making eye contact with that lovely glass of, what is it? Zubrowka vodka, or are you gonna at least appreciate that there's someone sitting next to you trying to start up a conversation?" At the vodka remark, she stopped swirling her glass for a fraction of a second. "Okay, let's start this again, do you have a name?" The girl showed no evidence that she cared or even heard what the man was saying, "Okay," said the man obviously taken aback by the lack of response from his companion, "So tell, why is a pretty girl, like you, here in this place instead of, say, partying at a friend's house?" the man inquired. The bartender looked fearfully over at them, apprehension in her eyes. Most people who pried into that formidable girl's background (and there'd been a few over her time) weren't seen at the bar again any time soon. "Come on," the man teased "There must be some kind of emotion behind that hair." Unfortunately for the man if he'd been able to see the eyes behind the untidy hair, he wouldn't've dared use that tone of voice with her. "Come on, come on," he said with the tone one might use when addressing a young child. The use of the tone directed at her forced her to stop swirling her drink and freeze entirely as if she was trying to compel herself not to punch the man sat beside her. "Surely," still with the baby tone, "surely, there's some lucky man out there waiting for you, so, where is he your lucky man, hmmm, where is h-" The man was interrupted mid-question by the girl suddenly getting to her feet. For the first time that evening the man saw the girl's eyes, he looked straight into them, he was swallowed into their depths. He was so far in he struggled to breathe, to resurface and break his gaze. The icy stare was suffocating, he was drowning in their silvery pools, drowning, he couldn't breathe, that stare was sending him mad. He must look away, soon, before it was too late, but he couldn't, but he must. The room was becoming increasingly hot and it felt as if he had the glares of a thousand men resting upon him.

Surreptitiously, he broke his gaze and looked anywhere but the girl he was once provoking. The girl approached him her steely, silver orbs seemed to be scouring every inch of his six- foot body, looking for a reason to punch him, as her facial expressions so clearly stated that that was what was on her mind. As she advanced he took a few steps back, like they were dancing, then he stumbled on a stool. She got closer, got right into his face, he could smell the heavy scent of someone who drank often on her breath, but this girl was as sober as they got. Even though he was intimidated by the girl, he forced himself to stand his ground, partly because he wanted to maintain his reputation, and partly because he was afraid that if took anymore steps back he might trip and fall over a chair and lose any dignity that remained.

Surprisingly instead of hitting the man, she took a step back, and held out her hand, wanting him to shake it. Cautiously he extended his own hand and she grasped it firmly and shook. Then to the utter confusion of the man -and the rest of the bar which had quiet in the anticipation of a fight- she turned on her heel and strode out of the pub.

Only when she had gone did the man regain his composure and realised that there was a note clasped in his outstretched hand. He unfolded it- you don't deserve to say that… E.C. p.s. thank you for the wallet… – it read in neat handwriting. Confusedly he wondered by what she could've meant by thanks for the wallet… Subconsciously he felt his pockets where his wallet usually resided. It wasn't there. Thinking back, he'd thought he'd seen her slip something into her pocket, but at the time he'd thought nothing of it. Now the idea hit him like a train, she'd stolen his blasted wallet. He hadn't even noticed. Shaking his head dumbfounded, he sat back on his stool and finished his drink.

Outside the pub, the dark street was lit up only by the warm glow of the pub's interior, and a few street lights, giving out a half-hearted, flickering orange glow. The darkness cloaked the beautiful, black car that the girl walked over too. She slid into the driver's side and put the keys into the ignition in one controlled fluid movement. The sleek Chevrolet impala started up with a purr. The vehicle rolled away from the pub. With its inviting interior in the rear view mirror the girl with the ice in her eyes smiled. The smile her pearly white teeth, and completely changed the mood on her face, it lit her sharp features up. It spread up to her eyes and she had a cute little dimple on her left cheek. Her smile faded when she noticed a car in her rear-view mirror, of course it could be a coincidence that a small red Dacia sondero was behind her as there was a bit of traffic at that time of the evening. So, she took a few random corners, taking her to the edge of town. She glanced behind her the car was still there.

She pulled up onto the curb of a dark alleyway just off the main street. Opposite the alley, on the other side of the street, the little red car pulled into another alley. She watched it in her mirrors until the car was engulfed by the gloom. Sighing the girl went to start up the car again but froze when she saw movement from across the street. A man, no, The Man, the one from the pub, who really was very tall, was standing, just in the light from the street lamps, and was staring straight at her, she knew, he knew that she was there, despite the darkness concealing her jet-black car. Quickly she reached into her pocket in her jacket and pulled out his wallet. She leafed through, pulled out anything she wanted and replaced it. Her attention was drawn back to the man, who was now crossing the street to where she was. As he crossed the road she opened the door of her impala, and got out, ready for him. The tall man, had longish hair and blue eyes that were trying to be green, his face was stony. He clearly hadn't appreciated having his wallet temporarily borrowed, especially not by a girl who clearly didn't have anything better to do.

As the man entered the alley, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the low light, then she came into vision, only then did he realise that she wasn't even that tall, earlier that evening it'd felt as if she was almost as tall as him, but now in this dingy alley, he could see she wasn't even tall enough to be the height of an average women. This him even more so infuriated. She was resting her arm on the roof of her car, her face, as per usual, expressionless.

"So, you think it's acceptable to steal from people?" the man started, his anger coming out in his short crisp sentences, "Answer me!" Frustratingly the girl remained silent and expressionless. "ANSWER ME!" the man roared. He shouted so loudly and unexpectedly, that a few nearby pigeons that were sitting on an aerial quickly flew away. The girl didn't even flinch. In fact, she took a step forward and raised an eyebrow defiantly. Infuriated the man, trying his hardest not to look into her eyes and fall back under her deathly gaze, said, "Who even are you? What's your name?" The girl didn't answer she just took another step closer and stared harder. Determined not to step back this time, the man also came a step closer, they were so close now he could feel her breath on his chin. "Who are you?" he asked deadly quiet. It was so quiet in the alley, you could hear the slight breeze as it whispered secrets in the dark night. In a sudden rush of adrenaline and anger, the man pushed the girl against the wall. The girl took a sharp intake of breath as her back hit the wall hard, this made the man smile, a sick twisted smile, it proved to him that the girl wasn't a complete robot. His smile faltered however when the girl started to smirk, a smirk that practically shouted that she had the upper hand, but she clearly didn't. "Who are you?" he asked in a final attempt to get an answer. Predictably she didn't give an answer. He released her and took a step back in one movement.

A moment passed, and nothing happened. Then the man spoke, "You think you always have the higher ground, know everything that's going to happen before it does. Well not this time." He reached into his pocket to reveal his wallet. "What you're not even going to react to this, I just stole something from you. I got it from your jacket as I pushed you against the wall." The girl remained silent and expressionless as always. "Ugh, what nothing, not even-, no. never -mind. I don't need this," he gestured between the two of them, "Adios, hope to see you never again." With that the man turned on his heel and exited the alley, leaving the girl alone in the darkness.

Back at his Dacia, the man opened up the wallet to check all the contents were still there. The wallet was completely empty bar a few bank notes and a small piece of paper, which read -ha ha, thanks for this. It has been entertaining E.C. – in the same neat precise handwriting as the first. Outraged that once again he'd been fooled the man chucked the wallet at the wall and scrunched up the note, pocketed the cash climbed into his car and sped off.

Over at the other side of the alley the girl let out a sigh of relief, that had been a close one, closer then she'd like to admit. The girl got back into her car, started the engine, turned back onto the main street and headed home.

The winding streets of the out-skirts of the city brought her to her house. The house was big, she'd inherited it from her parents when they'd passed away four years back. Some might call it a manor as it had lots of large windows, gargantuan oak doors, four chimneys and a garden, a very opulent, beautiful garden. Some people call it a manor, others, a waste of space only for the posh and wealthy. But to her it was home. Many childhood memories were associated with the place.

Her car cruised up the long, meandering path that lead to the house. She rolled up outside, but to her confusion, as she lived alone, there was another car there. A Chevrolet impala. A 1967 edition. It was black, like hers, and, must have been, manufactured at about the same time as her own car. Her tyres crunched on the gravel as she came to a stop, and as she got out of the car, she was able to get a closer look at the chevy on her drive, it really was very nice. Confused as to who the car belonged to (she didn't get many visitors -and when the occasional one came by, it was often due to a misdirection) she went to the side door, as she preferred to use that instead of the great oak ones, she put her key in the lock, but found that it was already unlocked. Really now confused she pushed the door to. Her usually untidy hallway, was as untidy as usual. she furrowed her brow in confusion. Then she heard voices, not the i'm going crazy kind, actual real life voices. Mens by the sound of.

"Damn it Dean you said the house had been abandoned!"


	2. chapter 2

**Sorry about the long wait (anybody who cares that is... if you do thank you!) This is a short chapter that i actually wrote ages ago but when i came to putting it up it didn't work, sooo... Here goes nothing...**

Chapter 2

The voices seemed to be coming from just upstairs, she waded through the debris-full room known as her hallway and to the stairs, as she hurried up she could hear them unceremoniously trying to order themselves, ready for a confrontation with the owner of the house. She reached the top of the stairs and turned around the corner onto the landing, she was met with the sight of two men, one was unbelievably tall with long-ish hair, his partner was shorter and stockier and had spiky dirty blond hair, they both wore impressively cheap suits and a stern look upon their faces. The girl raised an eyebrow up at them expectantly. They both pulled out FBI badges, fake she could tell. These still didn't serve of enough of an explanation as to why they were in her house.

"Um, Hello I'm agent Page and this is agent Glover, we are hear to, um, find out about a, um, escaped convict that was last sighted in the area. We under the belief that this house had been abandoned, but, er, clearly not." He smiled at his own words.

"Oh well, silly mistake," the girl smiled sweetly, falsely. A forced smile, she, of course didn't believe the two men. But she went along with charade anyway. "Tell me more, tell me why the "FBI" is concerned about a measly little escaped convict. As you broke into my house, sooo, I think I deserve it, don't you?"

"The work of the federal agents of the country, for the cou-"

"Fake federal agents, you mean." She interrupted

"Um, no miss not act-" the taller one said, agent Glover.

"well yeah, you are, try telling your cheap suits and fake IDs that you're proprer, you were very good, but the last few digits are incorrect for this month, and your false info that this house is empty, my name is Eira Collins and I live here!" The girl -Eira- finished defiantly, her steely silver eyes bore into the two 'agents', but they did not back down.

"So, tell me who are you, and why are you in my house?" Eira asked ferociously.

The taller of the two smiled, he had a nice inviting smile, the other scowled deeper.

"Umm, just give a sec let me talk to my partner here." Eira opened her arm, giving them their time.

The men turned their back on Eira and slid round the corner of the hallway to get out of eyesight of the feisty girl. "Dean, what should we do, she's got a vengeful spirit in her house, and judging by her and her house, it was probably passed down through her generations, meaning she might now the spirit, and crucially where the bodies buried."

"I dunno Sam, we don't know how she'll react, she may not take this the right way."

"Take what the right way?" Eira interjected quickly, she could not ignore the fact that they were talking about her and were only a few feet away, so she had silently slid over to listen. "You'll never know how I'll react if you don't tell me." Eira pointed out.

The smaller man -Dean- glanced uneasily at the taller, "You have a ghost living in your house," he said reluctantly.

"Oh, yeah Casper, the friendly ghost he lives here didn't you know that," Eira joked, "Ghosts don't exist, dick, now give me the truth, and I want the real-truth this time."

"That is the real-truth. My name is Sam Winchester, this is Dean, and we hunt monsters." As Eira heard the names something clicked in the back of her mind like the flick of a switch. She'd heard those names somewhere, but there was no time to dwell. "Vengeful spirits and ghosts aren't the only things that are real either, there are werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, demons, hell Angels as well."

Thoughts and ideas filled Eira's head, werewolves, the can't be, vampires too…"Tell me about them."

"Well, I hate to be cliché, but it's a long story, one that we don't necessarily have time for, as you still do have a vengeful spirit in your house." Dean said.

"How?" Eira asked.

"They are basically ghosts who usually have something bad done to them, normally when they die. This causes them to come back and try and avenge themselves, and not in a nice way." Sam answered.

"How do you kill it?" Eira asked.

"Burning the remains usually works," Dean answered.

"Oh, and where are the remains?"

"Damn you ask a lot of questions. But we were hoping you could help us with that, to you know, speed up the process, we have pressing matter to get back to…"

"Yeah sure, but how do you know whose remains to dig up? I mean I can't think of many deaths that happened here, let alone horrific deaths."

"The thing with Spirits is that aren't necessarily always tied to their remains, sometimes they attach themselves to objects. We think this one might be connected to an ornate mirror," Sam informed her.

"A mirror, why?"

"Because a girl was murdered in front of it."

"I think I may know the mirror you're talking about, I came across it a while back, a fancy ornate one, about yea big," Eira said her hand at shoulder height. "Come on I'll show you," she turned around and walked back along the corridor, down the stairs and left into a spare room. "I put it here 'cause I didn't think it went with the rest of the house, you know. It had a weird feeling about – this explains why though."

The mirror was tall, it had a gathering layer of dust about – clearly it had not been cleaned in a while. The room around it was full of boxes, it was just a storage room. There was a small collapsible-bed in the corner of the room, "There that," She gestured to the mirror hiding in the corner, "what do we do now?"

Outside in the driveway of the house stood the mirror, it seemed to fill the large space, it had an air of authority – even though it was just a mirror and an old one at that, but it seemed to have the air of an ancient Greek oracle. Wise and old. It didn't feel like a possessed object.

"So, what do we do?" Eira looked to Sam and Dean

"Smash it, burn it, we've already burnt the remains of the body, so this should mean the spirit can move on,"

"Okay, that's cool and all but won't it like try to stop you or something, I don't know, from sending it on before it's you know, finished,"

"Yeah well it should be fine…"


	3. chapter 3

Chapter 3

The black impala, 'baby' as Dean liked to call it, was home to a huge arsenal if weapons, machetes, shotguns and knives of varying lengths and sizes. But what was weirder was the other objects in the trunk, Sam told her that they were salt, iron, holy water and holy oil. The salt and iron were used for ghosts and the water and oil for demons and angels respectively.

They placed the mirror inside a salt circle Dean had made, it all seemed a bit wifty-wafty and far-fetched for Eira, but, according to Sam this would prevent the ghost from moving out of the circle, so it wouldn't be able to harm anyone.

Once everyone and everything was ready, Dean pulled out a large hammer and stepped into the circle. As soon as he did so, a figure appeared. She was in the image of a young girl around the same age as Eira, she had one of those old fashioned dresses on, and a scowl rested on her face. Dean swung his hammer at the mirror but before he could hit it he went flying backwards the hammer falling onto the gravel. Then the ghost blew the gravel around the salt circle, breaking it. Eira took a step back in worry, Sam had moved in front of her placing an arm out. In any other situation Eira would have pushed his arm away, glared at him and stalked off, but Sam Winchester was a professional hunter of monsters and there was a ghost in her garden so she let him be.

The ghost put her hand out and Eira and Sam flew back hitting Sam and Dean's Chevy, (not the paintwork!) and slid to the floor. The ghost had turned back towards Dean, he held nothing in his hands, so he raised his fists -fat lot of good that would do- when a iron bar came flying through the air. Sam had rolled over to the trunk of the Chevy and thrown Dean an iron bar. Dean swung it through the ghost causing it to dissipate and disappear. It was only a temporary solution.

Sam grabbed the salt, Dean the lighter and gasoline. Working in quick unison they created a salt circle. Dean was ready to smash and burn the mirror, he raised the hammer above his head, about to swing. That was when the ghost reappeared behind him, Sam opened his mouth to warn Dean, but there was nothing he could do.

Before she knew what she was doing, Eira was rolling away from where she was sitting, reaching for the metal bar standing and twisting she brought the through the ghost. It shook the ground and her soul.

Dean was able to finally able to smash the darned mirror and light it up.

The flames flickered and flied. Smoke rose in the dying depths of the long night. "Well... that was definitely something you don't see everyday,"

"You might not, today is practically a normal day, there's been A LOT weirder." Said Dean, he leant on the Chevy an open bottle of beer in his hand. Sam was stoking the fire making sure every part of the mirror disappeared in to ashes and didn't cause anymore problems.

"So do you just ride around the country helping random people in need from 'supernatural' things?" Eira asked after taking a sip from her own beer

"Yeah I guess..." Sam said.

"And is this what you've always done, like didn't you do anything else with your lives? Did you even go to school? Sorry, for the bombarding but I'm just really curious. How does your life get to this point?" Eira said very quickly, looking to Sam.

"It's a long story, that's for sure,"

"Well... We've got until the fire dies, which at this rate is quite a long time. So. Spill the proverbial beans."

"It all started in a town Lebanon, Kansas when I was just four years old, Sam barely six months, and our mother burned upon the ceiling." Dean said. Between the two of them they then proceed to tell Eira their life story. Despite it being a shortened version of the grand tale it still took a good part of an hour.

They didn't know what but there was something about the short-ish flame haired girl. She listened well, attentively, and reacted correctly in all the right places.

The sun rose over a smoky sky above Eira, Sam and Dean. It had an eventful night.

 **Yeah another chapter! I feel like the chapters are gonnajust keep getting shorter and shorter after the first one... I'm only 13 years old so keeping up an interest is challenging. But i keep chipping away at it, for my sake uf no one else's.**

 **Thank you for reading...**

 **ADIOS MA AMIE**


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